Duke attempts the Impossible

[duke3016]

Can't let it go without a few words around the religious fever that was in good old catholic Ireland. I went to mass every Sunday for the good of my health. My mother would have frigging killed me if I didn't. I was also dispatched to confessions every Saturday at 11.00am to tell this man in black my sins.

I was terrified of him, you went into one side of the dark, scary confessional and waited for the grill to slide back so you could tell your sins. Now being afraid and not being able to concentrate I must have committed the same sins every week for 10 years, because they never changed. Which kind of defeats the object really.

Now Fr Flannery was an old Parish Priest who was extremely hard of hearing and when he was taking confession the front pew had a distinct lean as all who were waiting to go in were straining to hear the sins of the one that was in because they were always exhorted to speak up.

One day, I think it was Francie Mac who was in. We heard a few whispers and then in a very loud voice Fr Flannery roared.

“You what”

Well, Francie came out a few minutes later to the combined stares of the front pew who had various views as to his deeds that warranted such an outburst.

“Careful lads” he said “He's forgotten his hearing aid again”

Good times,

[duke3016]

As our world gets increasingly smaller with improved air travel we are constantly reminded of our shortcomings around the ability to converse in foreign languages. We seem to be annoyed when a waiter in a Paris restaurant cannot speak English. Of course the reason he doesn't speak English could be because he is French !!!

However this problem can raise its head on this little island with differing accentuations of the English language.

When we opened a new depot in Warrington about two years ago, a goodly majority of the staff were Eastern European. I was reconfiguring the terminals on the forklift trucks when the training manager was giving a health and safety talk to the new drivers.

All these drivers were highly qualified fork operatives but regulations dictated that they get the H&S lecture. Now to assist these people the agency had provided an interpreter to help along in the first few days.

The gentleman giving the lecture was from Glasgow and not only was his accent broad, he also used various colloquiums from his native city. He really warmed to his subject with hand gestures and proper emphasis at the more important bits.

When he was finished all the heads of the drivers turned to the interpreter with child like expectation. He looked at them and then back at the H&S man, he even looked at me in expectation. He sighed and said.

“Could you repeat that I haven't got a clue what you just said”

Priceless.

[duke3016]

When I was growing up if a Priest, Doctor or teacher said something then it was akin to an infallible suggestion and had to be obeyed without question. I am, I assure you, a little more cynical now.

At certain times of the year we would have a Priest's collection and the Priest would keep a note of all contributors. He would not be adverse to broadcasting from the pulpit anyone he felt did not either contribute or, even worse, did not contribute enough.

There would be much shuffling of feet at the back when this came round. You'd be eyeing up your exit routes just in case.

'Priests Fund analysis” boomed the priest

All eyes swiveled to see who was squirming the most.

“No contribution to the fund is a sin” boomed the priest
“You must be a bad man not to contribute to the fund” says he
“You will suffer the fires of hell” he continued
“It reflects on your mothers when you have not contributed” he roared

Well, then a voice rose from the back of the church. It was TJ Murphy

“I contributed anonymously and stop talking about my mother”

priceless

[duke3016]

There were a lot of pubs to choose from in the neighbouring villages and you usually picked them by the day of the week. By that I mean certain pubs had a standard night for music and tried hard not to clash with each other. This led to the same crowd basically moving around during the week.

Jimmy Danny's in Broadford was the Wednesday haunt and Lena Hanrahan's was the Thursday night bash, so you get the picture.

After work on Thursday I was in the local bar in the village having a couple of tasters before making my way to Lena's for a night of dancing, drinking and if I got lucky a bit of debauchery. Standing at the bar with a couple of friends the discussion went thus.

“Great night at Danny's last night” says Denis
“Aye, good craic” says I
“One of the best in a long time” says Denis
“Was I there?” inquired Jerry Cooney looking a little tender
“Aye” says I
“Did I have a good time?” says Jerry

sigh

Anyway we geared up and headed for Feakle and parked up. You didn't hit Lena's too early as you didn't want to appear too keen, you know what I mean. So we ensconced ourselves in Pepper's bar for a couple. We lost Jerry here as he went for a piss and never came back. The next we heard of him he was in Australia buts that's another story for another time.

When the time was right we wandered into Lena's and had a right old time. Four dances, two fights and a particularly lively discussion on the merits of Mary O'Brien and the way she might look at you took us to closing time.

As per usual the front door closed, the band stopped and we got down to some serious drinking. Unfortunately this camaraderie was interrupted by a very loud knock on the front door announcing Guards On Duty. FECK

Now "found on's”  were slapped with an automatic £50 fine and I for one didn't fancy paying it.

“Back Door” says I to Denis
“Back Door” agrees he

We ran behind the bar and into the kitchen where Lena's Mother was sitting at the table having a cup of tea.

“Hello Ger how's your mother” says she
“Fine Maam” says I
“Will you have a cup in your hand” says she
“No thanks maam we are in a bit of a hurry” says I
“Oh Guards” says she
“Aye Guards” says I making for the back door.
“Fecking shower of no good losers” says she sipping daintily from the cup

Now the back door of the house lead into a very overgrown haggard and we barrelled through and into the wilderness. It was full of head high nettles and brambles and I was getting ripped and stung to beat the band. I felt the jacket and pants being ripped asunder and the shirt taking a beating. My face and bare hands were covered in nettle stings. 

We stopped at the wall and I legged Denis up and he pulled me up after him and we sprinted down the back field to the main road where we holed up for a while until the coast was clear.

My face was a sight covered in stings as were my hands and it was painful I can tell you. But I could comfort myself that I had saved £50.

Saved, my arse,,,,

Nettle rash cream £2.30
New Jacket £30
New Trousers £25
New Shirt £10

Priceless

[duke3016]

Going into severe festive mode -

[duke3016]

Making one's true love happy will cost a whopping £87,403 this year, a fairly small increase on last year.

That's the grand total for the single partridge in a pear tree to the 12 drummers drumming, purchased repeatedly as the song suggests. The price is up a mere £794, or less than 1 percent, from £86,609 last year.

The cost of buying each item just once is increasing this year to £21,466, up 1.8 percent from last year's £21,081.
The modest increase is due to lower energy costs and fewer wage increases.

The main driver behind the higher cost is that the price of gold has increased 43 percent, bringing the five gold rings up £150 to £500.

Although wage increases were modest, nine ladies dancing, at £5,473 per performance, is the costliest item, surpassing that of any of the material goods.

The most expensive goods are the seven swans a-swimming at £5,250, but their cost decreased 6.3 percent from last year's £5,600. Their cost tends to be the most volatile because of supply and demand; they were up 33 percent last year over 2007.

Costs for the 10 lords a-leaping (£4,414 per performance), 11 pipers piping (£2,285 per performance) and 12 drummers drumming (£2,475 per performance) remained the same as last year. This reflects the labour market in which the unemployment rate has risen.

And for those who would shop online, a word of caution.
Buying each item once on the internet will cost £31,435, which is down from last year's online price, but still about £10,000 more than in the traditional index.

In general, Internet prices are higher than their non-Internet counterparts because of shipping costs for birds and the convenience factor of shopping online.

Have a nice time buying your pressies

[duke3016]

My father was a direct person, and you were left in no doubt as to the thoughts that were in his brain. He also was not adverse to apportioning blame when things did not go entirely his own way. Normally this meant lumping the blame on me.

I wandered out to the shop one fine Saturday morning, and as usual he was at the till hands below the level of the counter and a guilty look on his face.

“FFS I thought you were your mother” says He
“Smoking again Da” says I
“Feck off” says he, pulling the sneaky ciggy from under the counter and drawing on it with a serene smile on his face.

“By the way, what are you at today” says he
“Thought I'd take a 10 mile run and then build a replica of the Taj Mahal” says I
“Feck off” says he “I need you after lunch”
“What for” says I
“We need to knock the shed next to Healy's” says he

FFS more manual labour when there was a pint with my name on it in Slattery's.

“No bother” says I

After lunch my mother took over in the shop and the ould lad and myself walked down to the shed. We had armed ourselves with Picks, Shovels & Sledgehammers and surveyed the shed.

Now it was attached to Healy's gable end on one side and looking at it I was not so sure that it didn't serve as a considerable prop for said gable end and I said so.

“Feck off ya eejit Healy's house is a solid as a rock” says he
“I'm not so sure Da” says I
“Start the other end” says he

Well we stripped the galvanise off the roof and removed the timber which didn't take long as it was rotten with age, and commenced breaking down the walls. It was going fairly well and I only just missed decapitating the ould lad twice, and he only managed to hit me on the backswing three times. Result in those days. We were about halfway along when I again voiced my reservations concerning the gable end.

“Feck off, it's fine” says he “and take care where you swing that sledge” FFS me take care, he was like Frank Spencer on speed with a sledge.

Still, I suppose Healy's house had stood before the shed was built and would surely stand after. We finished the job and the only damage to Healy's gable end was an area in need of plaster work along the lines of the wall and roof of the now demolished shed.

“Told ya, ya eejit” says the ould man “Safe as the Rock of Gibraltar”

We decided to move the rubble and metal on the next weekend and retired to the house for tea.

At precisely 21:10 a goodly proportion of Healy's gable end tumbled out and joined the rumble already there from the shed.

We were summoned to the scene of this particular ground zero to be confronted by Jimmy Healy.

“I told Ger” says the ould lad to Jimmy Healy

What, FFS I stared incredulously at the ould lad.

The house was still standing and the damage was limited to a central hole about 2 metres wide half way up the wall. It seems that the spot where it broke was in the bathroom and the wall was weak anyway and our efforts at demolition hastened the inevitable.

“I told him to be careful” says the ould lad
“Aye” says Jimmy
“I'll get it sorted” says the ould lad
“Aye” says Jimmy. Not one to be flustered the same Jimmy

FFS I knew better than to open my mouth however and held my counsel. The ould lad paid for the refurbish and regaled anyone who cared to listen that he always knew about the weakness and that his son never listened to him.

Priceless   

[duke3016]

My mother was a little minx and was not adverse to lighting the blue touch paper and retiring to see the results. The subtle digs (and sometimes not so subtle) were a minefield to be avoided on a daily basis.

I had been in England 2 years when the wee man was born and decided it was time to go home and show off the grandson. We arrived early afternoon into the village and parked the car. When you travel with a baby 99% of all luggage belongs to the baby FFS. When we were off loaded and the oohs and aahs were through, wee man was fed and watered and put to his bed. The girls had gone off in search of mischief and Gabrielle being tired hit the hay as well.

So I decided to do a little walk around the village and maybe end up in Mike's for a little nightcap. I was lost in my own thoughts about times gone by etc. and as I passed Pat Malone's shop, the window got rapped. I went into the shop

“You'll have a drop” says he
“Aye, a small one” says I

Never ask a teetotaller to fill a glass of whiskey, they fill it like you'd fill lemonade. A large tumbler of whiskey later I made my way out of the shop and along the road.

Irish hospitality being what it is, this scenario went through rinse and repeat in the houses of  Healy's, Mac's, Keegan's and Hannon's so by the time I got to Mike's bar I was legless to say the least and awash with Whiskey.

I ordered a pint and settled down lost in the warmth of the company and the innocence of village life. One pint followed another and I staggered home at some hour of the morning and because of the sleeping arrangements I was in the older part of the house and fell into bed.

To disguise the lateness of my entrance I got up early and made the wee man's bottle (Well in his case it was more like a bucket, he was a hungry fecker) and changed and fed the little Shiite.

Sitting in the kitchen content with life, with my son resting in the crook of my arm, sipping a coffee, Gabrielle came in.

“And what time did you get in” she snappily enquired
“Around 12, light of my life” I sweetly lied.

My mother arrived into the kitchen with all the subtlety of an aircraft carrier on full steam ahead and slapped the kettle on, sat down, lit a cigarette and smiled. FML

“Ger, what was the weather like when you came in at 3.30 this morning” says she.

Blue touch paper lit, she leaned back and waited for the inevitable storm to unleash.

Fair play, Gabrielle did not disappoint her.

Women, gotta love 'em.

Priceless

[duke3016]

I arrived home from work one evening and found my Mother & Father in a huddle at the back of the shop. Their faces were solemn and their tones were hushed. As I entered the shop they stopped talking and looked at me.

FML what have I done now, I tried to think what I had done lately and my excuses were ready whatever it was.

“Can we have a word” says the ould lad.

FFS he was being polite now I was worried, it was always the way the calm before the storm broke.

“Sure” says I

The ould lad went to the front of the shop and locked the door. OMG he never shut the shop ever, even when he broke his arm and I had to take him to casualty he waited until my mother was ready to sit at the till. We retired in an orderly fashion to the kitchen and I checked my escape routes.

The back door was probably locked so the fastest route out would be through the hall into my bedroom and out the window. I tensed myself for the rapid exit.

“It's about Maria” says the ould lad.

Thank Feck for that, Maria is my sister and was living in England.

“What's the problem” says I, now so relieved I was in high spirits
“She is getting married” says the ould lad.
“To who” says I

After a withering look, the ould lad said “To Mike of course”

“And is that a problem” says I
“God No” they both chorused

Of course it was ok, Mike was a headmaster in a large school in London and was a Catholic. Good Son in law material that.

“So what's the bother” says I
“We want to go” says the ould lad

So that was it, the bluff ould bugger didn't want to ask (or tell) me outright that he wanted me to mind the shop while they went off to England. To be honest I didn't really want to go anyway as it would be a stuffy affair bereft of drunkenness and violence.

“I'll see if I can take a few days off work and mind the shop for you” says I
“Good boy” says the ould lad “I'll pay you for loss of wages”
“I get paid holidays Da” says I
“Never mind that I'll slip you a few pounds for your trouble” says he

FFS what had happened, That bright light I saw last night must have been aliens who have taken the ould lad away and replaced him with this upsetting Mr Nice Guy.

They prepared for the trip and were about to set off for four days in England. Just before he got into the car he returned to where I was standing at the door.

“You will of course be liable for any losses incurred during the time I am away”

FFS the aliens had got fed up and put the ould lad back.


Priceless 

[duke3016]

My 21st birthday party was a riotous affair but was great craic. It was held in the ballroom of my Uncle's hotel and that was his present to me along with a free bar for 2 hours. Bless him. My two sister's had come over from England for the do and my current bit of passion, Pauline Wade was also there.

My father was of course holding court at the end of the bar with his brother, lowering the levels of a couple of bottles of Brandy. The music was provided by the Grogan Brothers whose mix of folk and country went down very well with the attendees.

I had hired a coach for my workmates who were coming from Shannon and there was approximately 200 people there. What was very nice is that there was only two fights, although the second one was a bit protracted it was carried out in a fairly orderly fashion. The highlight of the second one was the fact that me and the ould lad fought side by side, , what nostalgia.

Anyway, as the night drew on Pauline got a little annoyed at the antics and as her brother was going home she shot off with him. Don't blame her really she wasn't getting much attention from me. The night drew to a close around 3am and the hardened campaigner's adjourned back to Bodyke to continue the proceedings in the local.

Now the following day Bodyke United soccer team (I kid you not) were due to play in the semi final of the Munster junior cup in Waterford and as most of the players were at the do we mounted the coach at 8am hammered and having had no sleep.

I was in goal and I only gave away 3 penalties (I saved two of them) and wasn't sent off, which was a mystery to me as I was suffering so badly that I wanted to be sent off so I could retire to the clubhouse for a hair of the dog. We lost 3-0 which was not a bad result against the eventual winners of the competition as we finished the game with 8 men. 3 lucky buggers managed to get an early bath.

The trip home was a riot and when we arrived in the village at about 8pm that night the residue from the party was already in good voice. So we joined in.

You could do those things when you were 21 and still get up for work on the Monday. Couldn't do it now though.


Priceless days, sorely missed                           

[fandango]

Loving  these stories mate..

Keep them coming please they are indeed "priceless"

[duke3016]

Loving  these stories mate..

Keep them coming please they are indeed "priceless"

Cheers Carl - I enjoy re reading them 

[duke3016]

I awoke one Saturday morning after a fairly good session and wandered into the kitchen in search of breakfast. My mother seemed in an exceptionally good mood and sat me down and got the pan out. A full breakfast and two mugs of tea later and I was ready to face the world.

I went out into the shop and the ould lad, in complete contrast to me mother, was in a particularly foul mood.

“Morning Da” says I jovially
“What time do you call this to be getting up you lazy fecker” he retorted

I retreated back into the kitchen.

“What's up with him” says I
“He's in pain” says me mother
“Lost a £1 did he” says I
“No, ya eejit, real pain, from his teeth” says she smiling broadly

Apart from the fact that my mother was enjoying his discomfort, the ould lad was proud of the fact that he had all his teeth and he looked after them.

“Why doesn't he go to the dentist” says I
“He won't go” says she nearly breaking down with mirth
“I'll talk to him” says I
“Good luck” says she

I went into the shop and walked up to the ould lad. I was determined to take the diplomatic route.

“Go to the dentist you fecking eejit” says I
“Feck off” says he
“I'll make the appointment and drive you” says I
“Feck off” says he

I went into the post office part of the shop and Margaret was behind the counter.

“Is he still in a foul mood” says she
“Aye” says I

I rang the dentist and he had an opening (no pun intended) in an hours time, I booked him in. I went into the kitchen and told my mother to come into the shop as I was taking the ould lad to the dentist.

“This I must see” says she.

“come on Da, I've got you an appointment with Mr Kelly” says I
“I'm not going near that fecking butcher” says he
“So you are afraid of the dentist” says I, taking another tack
“Feck off” says he (limited vocabulary when in pain me Da)
“come on, get in the car”

It was testament to the pain he was in that he did get up and went to my car. I drove to the dentist in the next town and dropped him outside. He went in and I just had to follow. I walked into the surgery and he was already gone into the room. I sat down and started to read those awful magazines that the have in all dentists surgeries.

A sound of a drill sounded.

“What the feck, take that fecking thing away from me John Kelly or I'll tear your fecking head off”.

The dulcet tones of the ould lad made their way out into the waiting room. The drill sounded again and there was muffled noises from within the room. Next thing the wee girl assistant ran out into the waiting room and shut the door behind her.

“Hi Mary, what's up” says I
“Your Father, that's what's up, God he has an awful tongue on him, Mr Kelly sent me out” says she.

The next thing that happened was the drill stopped, there was an almighty crash and then complete silence. We looked at each other and Mary made to go towards the door.

“Leave it a while” says I

She stopped and looked at me and nodded.

The door opened and the ould lad emerged.

“Take me home” says he

I looked in the door and there was John Kelly leaning up against the cabinets sweat streaming down his face with his drill still in his hand. He looked at me.

“A difficult man your father” says he.
“No Shiite” says I

Priceless

[duke3016]

We were in Mike's one Friday evening holding the usual discussion about where to end the night. I really don't know why we bothered, because we always ended up in Vaughan's in Broadford. Anyway Pat Touhy came in late on and said that the forestry was on fire.

Now there was a large wood on what we call the mountain and it was owned by the Forestry Commission and provided good employment to a variety of Bodyke residents. Its demise would be a blow to quite a few people.

So we volunteered to a man to go up there and lend a hand. About 10 of us, in varying degrees of sobriety, piled into a couple of cars and headed up the mountain. When we arrived at the edge of the fire it had taken quite a hold and the fire brigade, well one tender from Scarriff anyway, was in attendance. Because of the lack of a water source for sustained dowsing, we were detailed to beat the living Shiite out of the edge of the fire in order to contain it.

This involved letting the original fire burn itself out. Simple you might think, however it was really hard work as the fire was pretty close and fecking hot. Because the underlying soil was peat based as soon as you beat out the flames they would spring up a couple of minutes later.

“FFS will the fecking fire ever go out” says Denis
“Seems perpetual” says I
“Perpet what” says Denis
“Never mind, keep beating” says I
“No, what did you say” says he
“Don't worry” says I
“You saying I'm thick” says he
“No just neurally challenged” says I
“That's alright then” says he, going back to his beating

27 hours we spent on that fecking mountain catching sleep now and again and beating the living Shiite out of the same patch of land over and over again. We were told that we had done a fine job and we could now go home. The forestry man was there and took our names saying that we would get the normal hourly rate for our efforts.

We headed down and as it was now midnight on Saturday we decided to have a couple of pints before retiring. There we were lined up against the bar smelling of smoke and sweat, but do you know what we were proud of ourselves and toasted one another. Well the couple of pints led to another couple and we all left at about 2am.

As we walked out of the bar door we looked up to the mountain whose fire we had beat. Feck me if the mountain didn't look back and say “You don't beat me that easy you scrawny, insignificant feckers” and a reddish glow could be seen.

FFS we all piled into Philip Hogan's car, because he didn't drink, and headed back up the mountain, where we stayed beating for another 12 hours. At the end of the stint we couldn't slap another patch of fire, we were knackered, but this time we had it beat.

I got a cheque in the post and for the life of me I can't remember the amount, but it wasn't a lot. However that weekend showed the good side of the community and as such was very fulfilling (apart from Denis trying to plant his brother when he hit him with a beater)   

Good spirit, great people, priceless.

[duke3016]